


Freak

by theBelgravian



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, BAMF!John, Bullying, M/M, Teenlock, short short story, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theBelgravian/pseuds/theBelgravian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An extension of an ask-box fic I wrote for a contest on fuckyeahteenlock.tumblr.com a while ago. </p><p>Written partly as therapy to deal with the fact that "Control" by imaginarynumbers has been abandoned. So yeah, sorry about the angst!</p><p>EDIT: "Control" hasn't been abandoned after all woo!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuinnAnderson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinnAnderson/gifts), [kali_asleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali_asleep/gifts).



The oak on the shoulder of the road by Sherlock’s school was shedding blood-red leaves in drifts across the messy grass. A chilly wind tugged slightly at the bottom of Sherlock’s longcoat, down below the last black button, as Sherlock pushed gloveless hands deep into his coat pockets, waiting for his boyfriend to come pick him up. Depression pressed its heavy hand on his forehead. 

John finally pulled up in his father’s old car, smiling out the window at Sherlock. 

“Hi,” John greeted. 

Sherlock wrenched the passenger-side door open and slid into the seat, a little too quickly. John’s smile fell off his face. He reached across the gearshift and put a hand on Sherlock’s schoolbag, his gaze steady on Sherlock’s face, looking for any clues as to what might have happened to make Sherlock so downcast.

“What happened?” he asked, gently.

“Carl Powers,” Sherlock replied, breathing shakily. “Called me a freak, right in the middle of chemistry. Loudly. Everyone laughed, even Wilkes.”

John exhaled an angry breath, feeling his blood start to boil. He knew how much Sherlock despised negative attention of any sort and that it hurt him more than the punches ever did. John wished again that he’d been born two years later than he had. Then he and Sherlock would have graduated at the same time and Sherlock would have had John there to protect him during his last two years of secondary.

“Are you going to tell your parents?” John asked, already knowing the answer.

“No,” Sherlock replied. There was a touch of defiance in his deep voice.

“Are you going to tell the teachers, anyone?”

“The teacher could barely keep from laughing himself.”

John’s hands closed into fists and before he knew what he was doing he’d gotten out of the car and was stalking angrily across the manicured lawn of his old school. He heard Sherlock get out as well and say something, but the blood was pounding so fiercely in his ears now that he didn’t hear it. 

He saw them coming out of the building and knew them immediately. Carl Powers, tall, mean-looking, and with a bag slung over one shoulder, and two of his swim-team cronies, daring to laugh as they stepped out of the school building and into John’s path.

“Hi,” John said.

Carl Powers never saw the fist coming, though he felt it for days afterwards. 

His teammates leapt on John and John made quick work of them, incredible rage coursing through him as his fists flew and collided with ribs, skulls, and flesh until the three boys were laid out on the ground with their hands over their heads in obvious surrender.

John didn’t explain himself: they knew who he was, after all.

He made his way back to the car, limping slightly for his old football injury. His eyes softened when they landed on his boyfriend’s stunned face. He slid a hand behind Sherlock’s head and pulled him down for an impassioned snog as the assailed slowly picked themselves up behind him. 

“That’s the last time they call you freak, babe,” he said reassuringly.

Sherlock’s answering smile was radiant. 

John enclosed Sherlock’s hand in his own and led him over to the car. 

As soon as they were speeding away from the school John reached out to lay a hand gently over Sherlock’s. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Sherlock said quietly, though the last vestiges of the smile lingered on his face.

“I really, really did,” John replied. 

John thought Sherlock was like sunshine, brilliant in every single way, not deserving to be forced into school with so many bullying idiots, not deserving to be put down or laughed at in such a public way. Maybe John couldn’t defend him in those moments as he had in years past, but he would damn well avenge Sherlock whenever necessary, for as long as the two of them were one.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments, I love feedback!


End file.
